Mad Girl's Love Song
by zyn1213
Summary: Shassie fic. Chapt 1 is a deathfic and Chapt 2 is an alternate ending with no death. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Psych, nor do I own the Sylvia Plath poem Mad Girl's Love Song. I just enjoy them both.

Summary: The end of Lassiter and Spencer, the beginning of Shawn and Carlton, and the end of Shawn.

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;_

_I lift my lids and all is born again._

_(I think I made you up inside my head.)_

Lassiter finished his signature and a chapter in his life all in one decisive moment. He sealed the documents into an envelope and tucked it into the pocket of his blazer. The detective closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He opened his eyes and what he saw nearly had him choking on the exhale. O'Hara looked at him askance but he shook his head slightly and she returned to flirting with the station mascot. Who stood there as though nothing had happened and maybe nothing had.

But Lassiter had seen, had thought he'd seen, the look the fake psychic had given him. It had passed like quicksilver but unless Lassiter was mistaken or hallucinating, it was genuine concern that was in the younger man's eyes. Which was impossible, because genuine didn't apply to Spencer at all and if it did there was still no reason for that look because the detective never told anyone about finalizing his divorce.

Lassiter had long since decided that trying to figure out the young man was like trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle whose pieces were water soaked. Nothing quite fit like you thought it should and when you did manage to make a connection, the image it gave you was distorted. That brief possible hallucination of a look felt like the first piece of something important and it took Lassiter weeks longer than it perhaps should have to realize why.

It wasn't moving forward as much as it was stepping to the side and looking back. Past instances when looked at through a new perspective seemed to lend another layer to his interaction with the irrepressible young man. It amazed him to learn the flamboyant psychic was capable of such subtlety.

_The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,_

_And arbitrary blackness gallops in:_

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead._

It wasn't until the department's 4rth of July picnic that he thought about articulating his newfound view of his sometimes colleague. The brunette was sitting on the edge of a picnic table watching the fireworks display. Lassiter found himself hypnotized by the bursts and flashes of light playing over the psychic's face, the way his green eyes caught and reflected the bright colors. He moved to stand next to the man, licking his lips as though he could taste the words he was about to speak. "Shawn.." he trailed off, realizing the name somehow tasted sweet and wondering why he never said it before. The other man didn't answer, just casually reached out a hand and tucked it into Carlton's back pocket like it belonged there. From the way it fit perfectly, the Irishman figured it did.

The smell of sparklers and the sound of people whispering in appreciation surrounded them and it wasn't what Carlton pictured, it was so much better. He pulled Shawn's hand away and sat next to the psychic. Carlton gently guided Shawn's hand back and slipped his arm around the younger man. He was so content that Shawn's voice, soft as a butterfly kiss, was a surprise. "Everyone loves fireworks; the colors, the sounds. I like to wait until everyone's gone, when the smoke clears and its quiet and dark. You forget about the stars when the fireworks are going off but when they're done, it's so dark they shine brighter than ever." He was quiet a moment. "No one else ever seems to notice." They stayed like that long after everyone else had gone. Long after the smoke cleared and it went quiet and dark.

_I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed_

_And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane._

_(I think I made you up inside my head.)_

The first kiss was both hesitant and needy. It slid into another and another and each one more right, more real than the last. Carlton had thought Shawn's name on his lips was sweet but it was nothing compared to Shawn himself. The slight saltiness to his skin, the scent of pineapple body wash, and each soft press of lips were too much and just perfect. Shawn's hands found the buttons on Carlton's dress shirt and made slow torturous work of them, his fingers ghosting over the exposed flesh before moving down to the next button. Carlton threaded his own fingers into the younger man's hair as Shawn knelt to trail kisses down the Irishman's chest.

When Shawn ran out of buttons Carlton had just enough time to meet the brunette's mischievous gaze with a questioning one of his own before Shawn rubbed his cheek against his khakis, nuzzling his crotch like a playful kitten. Carlton hissed and glared at the green eyes that peered up at him mirthfully. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the psychic not to tease when Shawn unbuttoned the pants and pulled them down just enough to reach in and wrap his lips around Carlton's cloth covered erection. The feel of the cotton 

pressing down on Carlton and the heat of the psychic's mouth snapped the last vestiges of his control. He reached down and grabbed a handful of the younger man's T-shirt, yanking him to his feet and pressing their lips together, drinking the psychic down. He filled his senses with Shawn, straining for more because it wasn't enough. Anything less than everything wasn't enough.

Afterwards, with the psychic cuddled against him Carlton looked out the window and saw the stars shining brighter than ever. He understood he had been given another jigsaw piece and as the Irishman rested his head against his lover he thought for the first time he could kind of see the picture he was working to complete. He had taken Shawn home though he rather thought it was more like Shawn had taken him home, or maybe they just took each other to the next closest thing.

_God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:_

_Exit seraphim and Satan's men:_

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead_

"Why is this such a big deal? It's not like you ever believed I was a psychic!"

"No, I didn't believe, but that's not the point Shawn! The point is that as long as I didn't know, I didn't have to do anything about it!" Lassiter glared at the younger man. "You lied to the Santa Barbara Police Department…"

"I already told you that you didn't give me much of a choice!" Shawn interrupted.

"..Of which I am Head Detective. Head Detective Shawn! You committed Fraud. Yes, you helped us close cases…"

"Don't forget the part where I helped put the bad guys in jail."Shawn crossed his arms over his chest and glared back at the detective.

"Which they will most likely get out of while the courts wade through the flood of appeals they'll get when it becomes known that the person primarily responsible for putting them there is a fraud! All of those cases will have to be retried. All of them. The press will have a field day…"

"Be sure the knot in your tie is straight, you know how important that is to you." Lassiter shot the young man a look, displeased with the flip remark.

"There will be repercussions throughout the department. Internal investigations, reviews, jobs could be on the line Shawn! When this gets out…"

"Why does it have to get out? Why does anything have to change?"

"Please tell me you didn't just ask me to keep quiet about knowledge of a crime. Please tell me you didn't just ask me to…Sweet Justice Shawn!" Lassiter ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I can't, I just can't do that." He started to pace. The words practically tripped over themselves coming out of his mouth so fast and where heavy and swollen with all of his emotions. "Being a detective is all I want, **all I've _ever_ wanted**. It's not just what I do, it's **who I am**! It's true and unchangeable: the sky is blue, the grass is green and I am Head Detective Carlton Lassiter. I can't risk that for some.."

"Some what?" something in Shawn's voice made Lassiter look at him. Shawn was paler than pale and his eyes were shining with unshed tears. Shawn took a step towards him. "Some WHAT?" It seemed wrong somehow that Shawn's voice was so strong and loud and the rest of him suddenly seemed so fragile.

For the first time Lassiter was starting to realize that he'd misstepped, and badly. Shawn was coming closer and Lassiter could see he was trembling and he wanted so badly to wrap his arms around the brunette but it had gone too far 

and this was too important to him to let go of. "SOME WHAT?" Lassiter wanted to flinch at the scream but instead he met Shawn's eyes.

"Some criminal." The words were whispered but seemed as loud as a gunshot. Shawn jerked as though the words truly were a bullet and gazed at the detective in horror. Lassiter felt his own eyes widen as the impact of that particular word choice slowly sunk in. He gazed helplessly at the man before him, wanting to snatch the words back and not knowing how. He licked his lips, which tasted sour and tried anyway. "Shawn…"

The whisper seemed to push the young man out of the disbelief that had frozen him. With a small, strangled sound he turned and ran out of the house. "Shawn!" Lassiter followed him but seemed to moving through sand. By the time he got to the door the roar of Shawn's motorcycle was fading.

_I fancied you'd return the way you said,_

_But I grow old and I forget your name._

_(I think I made you up inside my head.)_

So used to the daily comings and goings of the psychic, it took the Santa Barbara Police Department awhile to catch on that he wasn't working a case somewhere and something was very wrong. Head Detective Lassiter was impossible to be around so the general consensus was there was trouble in paradise and Shawn would be back when the lover's spat was over. A few brave souls risked a verbal maiming to tell the detective what they thought a nice reconciliatory gesture would be.

Lassiter wasn't sure what bothered him more, the fact everyone assumed there was a fight and it was his fault, or the fact everyone was right. He closed his eyes and opened them again to look at his watch. He checked his phone for messages and found none, nor were there any missed calls. No, what bothered him the most was that his shift was nearly over and he hadn't once heard back from Shawn.

Lassiter's phone didn't ring until 1:17 am, jolting him awake and making his pulse leap into his throat. He grabbed the phone and answered breathlessly "Shawn!" The voice on the other end was not his absent lover however, but Gus. As he listened to the other man Lassiter felt his heart drop down from his chest and quite possibly out of his body.

_I should have loved a thunderbird instead;_

_At least when spring comes they roar back again._

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead._

_(I think I made you up inside my head.)_

It seemed unnatural to Lassiter that the sun still rose and set. It seemed positively blasphemous that the world kept turning and elsewhere life went on. A small sob sounded from his left and Lassiter turned his head to see Gus shaking with emotion, tears streaming down his face. Beyond him was Henry. The older – the only – Spencer was white knuckled and white lipped. Lassiter didn't look him in the eyes for the same reason he didn't look into mirrors anymore.

The turnout was huge, with people coming not only from all over the U.S. but the world as well. Lassiter supposed that he should he be glad that Shawn was so loved but right now he couldn't bring himself to care. He dimly heard a man behind him telling someone that he and Shawn had worked together at a circus; apparently Shawn rode and cared for the Elephants while this man was an acrobat. The acrobat was relating a story about teaching Shawn (or Colonel Hathi as he called himself while performing) some simple acrobatic tricks which Shawn tried to replicate while on the elephant's back and long story short the circus was no longer welcome in Sandusky. Lassiter remembered Shawn talking 

him into watching him perform those same tricks in a more private setting that had disastrous results as well, though it was amusing to watch Shawn try to explain the wrist cast and ankle brace both as 'carpal tunnel'. No one was brave enough to ask Lassiter about his sling. He smiled then grimaced. Was every memory going to snag like fabric on a thorn?

A hand on his arm made him jump slightly but it was only O'Hara. She wordlessly held her arms out and he let himself be folded into the embrace. Lassiter took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped his head onto her shoulder. He remembered her holding him just like this in the interrogation room after Chief Vick put him on forced leave for reducing that motorist to tears.

It wasn't his finest moment on the force but in his defense, it had been the day after he got that call from Gus and he had still been trying to deny reality and chose to do so by burying himself in work. It was hardly his fault that he caught some soccer mom running a stop sign though he supposed screaming at her was a bit much and pointing at her wide eyed children in the back seat and demanding to know why she'd risk their lives like that was downright uncalled for. "Don't you know you're supposed to look out for the ones you love?" he had roared at her while O'Hara tried desperately to calm the situation. Something in him had snapped at seeing that minivan blow that stop sign and he knew it wasn't the same intersection and there was no way you could confuse a minivan and a motorcycle, but in his mind he saw the accident that took the man he loved.

He chose the job over Shawn at the wrong moment and now he didn't have either. Oh, eventually the shrink they were making him see would clear him for duty and he'd get his badge back, that little gold shield that meant so much once upon a time. Juliet squeezed him once more and let go. "I got what you asked for." She said softly, holding out a bag. Lassiter took it and glanced up at the front of the room. For the moment no one was up there so he took another breath and walked up.

It seemed unnatural to see Shawn so still. He had never stopped moving, even in his sleep and Lassiter had had the bags under his eyes and the occasional bruise to prove it. He felt his eyes tear up and knew he had to do this now so he could leave before he started to cry. It didn't matter to him if anyone saw the tears but crying in front the man who had been the source of so much laughter seemed profane somehow. Lassiter was afraid to touch him, afraid to feel the cold skin and not the warmth he remembered. So he ever so gently ran his fingers through Shawn's hair one last time before opening the bag and pulling out a few small fireworks and placing them in the coffin.

He walked to the exit, ignoring someone who called his name. Once he was outside he gulped down huge breathes of air, slumping against the building then sliding down to sit on the ground. Lassiter propped his arms on his knees, buried his face in them and let the tears fall. When there were no more tears he leaned his head back against the wall.

Lassiter had always described his view of the world as black and white. The past few days taught him how wrong he had been. Even when his vision was at its most limited, the world itself had vibrancy, and color. That color seemed to have leeched out of everything, leaving Lassiter feeling flat and gray. Shawn had sailed into his life in a burst of light and sound and color and now that he was gone, Lassiter was left alone in the quiet and dark. The stars had come out while he had been crying and they were brighter but it was a cold fire. Lassiter wrapped his arms around himself and wondered if he'd ever feel warm again.


	2. Non Death Version

Pairing: Shassie

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Psych, nor do I own the Sylvia Plath poem Mad Girl's Love Song. I just enjoy them both.

Summary:This is an alternate ending to Mad Girl. It's exactly the same until you get to the last verse of the poem, then it's different so if you want to skip what you've already read I won't be offended. This is now complete: I couldn't decide what ending to use so I wrote both. Maybe now the plot bunnies will stop poking me with pointy things. Please drop a comment and let me know what version you like better. There might be a sequel to this version...I dunno. We'll see how y'all like it.

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;_

_I lift my lids and all is born again._

_(I think I made you up inside my head.)_

Lassiter finished his signature and a chapter in his life all in one decisive moment. He sealed the documents into an envelope and tucked it into the pocket of his blazer. The detective closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He opened his eyes and what he saw nearly had him choking on the exhale. O'Hara looked at him askance but he shook his head slightly and she returned to flirting with the station mascot. Who stood there as though nothing had happened and maybe nothing had.

But Lassiter had seen, had thought he'd seen, the look the fake psychic had given him. It had passed like quicksilver but unless Lassiter was mistaken or hallucinating, it was genuine concern that was in the younger man's eyes. This was impossible, because genuine didn't apply to Spencer at all. If it did there was still no reason for that look because the detective never told anyone about finalizing his divorce.

Lassiter had long since decided that trying to figure out the young man was like trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle whose pieces were water soaked. Nothing quite fit like you thought it should and when you did manage to make a connection, the image it gave you was distorted. That brief possible hallucination of a look felt like the first piece of something important and it took Lassiter weeks longer than it perhaps should have to realize why.

It wasn't moving forward as much as it was stepping to the side and looking back. Past instances when looked at through a new perspective seemed to lend another layer to his interaction with the irrepressible young man. It amazed him to learn the flamboyant psychic was capable of such subtlety.

_The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,_

_And arbitrary blackness gallops in:_

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead._

It wasn't until the department's 4rth of July picnic that he thought about articulating his newfound view of his sometimes colleague. The brunette was sitting on the edge of a picnic table watching the fireworks display. Lassiter found himself hypnotized by the bursts and flashes of light playing over the psychic's face, the way his green eyes caught and reflected the bright colors. He moved to stand next to the man, licking his lips as though he could taste the words he was about to speak. "Shawn.." he trailed off, realizing the name somehow tasted sweet and wondering why he never said it before. The other man didn't answer, just casually reached out a hand and tucked it into Carlton's back pocket like it belonged there. From the way it fit perfectly, the Irishman figured it did.

The smell of sparklers and the sound of people whispering in appreciation surrounded them and it wasn't what Carlton pictured, it was so much better. He pulled Shawn's hand away and sat next to the psychic. Carlton gently guided Shawn's hand back and slipped his arm around the younger man. He was so content that Shawn's voice, soft as a butterfly kiss, was a surprise. "Everyone loves fireworks; the colors, the sounds. I like to wait until everyone's gone, when the smoke clears and its quiet and dark. You forget about the stars when the fireworks are going off but when they're done, it's so dark they shine brighter than ever." He was quiet a moment. "No one else ever seems to notice." They stayed like that long after everyone else had gone. Long after the smoke cleared and it went quiet and dark.

_I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed_

_And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane._

_(I think I made you up inside my head.)_

The first kiss was both hesitant and needy. It slid into another and another and each one more right, more real than the last. Carlton had thought Shawn's name on his lips was sweet but it was nothing compared to Shawn himself. The slight saltiness to his skin, the scent of pineapple body wash, and each soft press of lips were too much and just perfect. Shawn's hands found the buttons on Carlton's dress shirt and made slow torturous work of them, his fingers ghosting over the exposed flesh before moving down to the next button. Carlton threaded his own fingers into the younger man's hair as Shawn knelt to trail kisses down the Irishman's chest.

When Shawn ran out of buttons Carlton had just enough time to meet the brunette's mischievous gaze with a questioning one of his own before Shawn rubbed his cheek against his khakis, nuzzling his crotch like a playful kitten. Carlton hissed and glared at the green eyes that peered up at him mirthfully. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the psychic not to tease when Shawn unbuttoned the pants and pulled them down just enough to reach in and wrap his lips around Carlton's cloth covered erection. The feel of the cotton 

pressing down on Carlton and the heat of the psychic's mouth snapped the last vestiges of his control. He reached down and grabbed a handful of the younger man's T-shirt, yanking him to his feet and pressing their lips together, drinking the psychic down. He filled his senses with Shawn, straining for more because it wasn't enough. Anything less than everything wasn't enough.

Afterwards, with the psychic cuddled against him Carlton looked out the window and saw the stars shining brighter than ever. He understood he had been given another jigsaw piece and as the Irishman rested his head against his lover he thought for the first time he could kind of see the picture he was working to complete. He had taken Shawn home though he rather thought it was more like Shawn had taken him home, or maybe they just took each other to the next closest thing.

_God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:_

_Exit seraphim and Satan's men:_

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead_

"Why is this such a big deal? It's not like you ever believed I was a psychic!"

"No, I didn't believe, but that's not the point Shawn! The point is that as long as I didn't **know**, I didn't have to do anything about it!" Lassiter glared at the younger man. "You lied to the Santa Barbara Police Department…"

"I already told you that you didn't give me much of a choice!" Shawn interrupted.

"..Of which I am Head Detective. Head Detective Shawn! You committed Fraud. Yes, you helped us close cases…"

"Don't forget the part where I helped put the bad guys in jail."Shawn crossed his arms over his chest and glared back at the detective.

"Which they will most likely get out of while the courts wade through the flood of appeals they'll get when it becomes known that the person primarily responsible for putting them there is a fraud! All of those cases will have to be retried. All of them. The press will have a field day…"

"Be sure the knot in your tie is straight, you know how important that is to you." Lassiter shot the young man a look, displeased with the flip remark.

"There will be repercussions throughout the department. Internal investigations, reviews, jobs could be on the line Shawn! When this gets out…"

"Why does it have to get out? Why does anything have to change?"

"Please tell me you didn't just ask me to keep quiet about knowledge of a crime. Please tell me you didn't just ask me to…Sweet Justice Shawn!" Lassiter ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I can't, I just can't do that." He started to pace. The words practically tripped over themselves coming out of his mouth so fast and where heavy and swollen with all of his emotions. "Being a detective is all I want, **all I've _ever_ wanted**. It's not just what I do, i**t's who I am**! It's true and unchangeable: the sky is blue, the grass is green and I am Head Detective Carlton Lassiter. I can't risk that for some.."

"Some what?" something in Shawn's voice made Lassiter look at him. Shawn was paler than pale and his eyes were shining with unshed tears. Shawn took a step towards him. "Some WHAT?" It seemed wrong somehow that Shawn's voice was so strong and loud and the rest of him suddenly seemed so fragile.

For the first time Lassiter was starting to realize that he'd misstepped, and badly. Shawn was coming closer and Lassiter could see he was trembling and he wanted so badly to wrap his arms around the brunette but it had gone too far 

and this was too important to him to let go of. "SOME WHAT?" Lassiter wanted to flinch at the scream but instead he met Shawn's eyes.

"Some criminal." The words were whispered but seemed as loud as a gunshot. Shawn jerked as though the words truly were a bullet and gazed at the detective in horror. Lassiter felt his own eyes widen as the impact of that particular word choice slowly sunk in. He gazed helplessly at the man before him, wanting to snatch the words back and not knowing how. He licked his lips, which tasted sour and tried anyway. "Shawn…"

The whisper seemed to push the young man out of the disbelief that had frozen him. With a small, strangled sound he turned and ran out of the house. "Shawn!" Lassiter followed him but seemed to moving through sand. By the time he got to the door the roar of Shawn's motorcycle was fading.

_I fancied you'd return the way you said,_

_But I grow old and I forget your name._

_(I think I made you up inside my head.)_

So used to the daily comings and goings of the psychic, it took the Santa Barbara Police Department awhile to catch on that he wasn't working a case somewhere and something was very wrong. Head Detective Lassiter was impossible to be around so the general consensus was there was trouble in paradise and Shawn would be back when the lover's spat was over. A few brave souls risked a verbal maiming to tell the detective what they thought a nice reconciliatory gesture would be.

Lassiter wasn't sure what bothered him more, the fact everyone assumed there was a fight and it was his fault, or the fact everyone was right. He closed his eyes and opened them again to look at his watch. He checked his phone for messages and found none, nor were there any missed calls. No, what bothered him the most was that his shift was nearly over and he hadn't once heard back from Shawn.

Lassiter's phone didn't ring until 1:17 am, jolting him awake and making his pulse leap into his throat. He grabbed the phone and answered breathlessly "Shawn!" The voice on the other end was not his absent lover however, but Gus. As he listened to the other man Lassiter felt his heart drop down from his chest and quite possibly out of his body.

_I should have loved a thunderbird instead;_

_At least when spring comes they roar back again._

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead._

_(I think I made you up inside my head.)_

The silence was perhaps the hardest thing to get used to. It followed him like a shadow, growing smaller or larger depending on where he was. When he was at work, it was small – just large enough to fit him. Conversations bubbled around him but hardly anyone spoke to him anymore and never, ever about anything that didn't pertain to work. He sometimes mused the silence was actually composed of the (mostly) unspoken accusations, the air around him thick and heavy with them.

The few times he chanced upon Gus or (God forbid) Henry, the silence grew large enough to engulf him. Lassiter couldn't meet their gazes without flinching like his body was trying to throw off some invisible weight. They walked by him without acknowledging his presence but he still heard their thoughts of 'Your Fault, Your Fault, Your Fault' as clearly as if they shouted it in his ear.

At home, he stepped in and vanished inside the silence. He spent as little time as possible there because he just couldn't take the absolute stillness. Everything seemed to be holding its breath long past the time it should, lending a stale quality to the dark. It was hard to think, much less do anything else. So Lassiter filled his days with work, where no one under any circumstances mentioned that name.

Lassiter wasn't unobservant; one couldn't be and make Head Detective. He knew full well that just because no one mentioned Shawn around him didn't mean that they didn't talk about him. He knew that O'Hara, hell even McNabb got the occasional postcard. Lassiter was easily able to bully McNabb into letting him read them. His partner was a tougher nut but even she cracked after the third straight month of the most menial cases he could get his hands on. It took all the willpower he possessed not to run his fingers over the words as if doing so would somehow put him in touch with the man who wrote them. Instead Lassiter took them to the copy machine. One of the few times his home was breathable was when he pulled out those copies and heard Shawn's voice reading to him.

He also knew Gus got phone calls every Sunday and that Gus was under strict orders not to take any messages from him to Shawn. Lassiter had tried that once or twice but the pharmaceutical rep had made it clear that not only was it an order, but he wouldn't speak on the detective's behalf even if he hadn't been sworn to silence.

More silence. It seemed to be pouring from the cracks in his heart, slick and dark coating everything he touched. Lassiter took a sip of his coffee without really tasting it and stared out his window. It was spring again in Santa Barbara, a time of renewal, regrowth, and returns. How many times had he closed his eyes and pictured not the sounds of the birds that trumpeted their arrival, but the roar of a motorcycle? How many times had he thought he heard a key in the lock and felt warmth and hope flutter up in him fragile as butterfly wings? Lassiter touched the copy of the latest postcard in front of him. Shawn was in Miami and visiting O'Hara's old haunts. The detective skimmed past the comparisons of the actual Miami to the Will Smith song and ran his finger over the last line. 'Wish you were here with me.' Somewhere in the house a clock chimed the hour and Lassiter realized he was late to work. He grabbed his keys and folded the paper, tucking it into the pocket of his suit coat as he stepped into the sunshine. It was spring again in Santa Barbara, but Lassiter moved in a winter of his own making; a cold, dark, slumbering silence.


End file.
